


A Million Little Pieces

by nonbinaryspock



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Ficlet Collection, Jewish Character, M/M, One Shot Collection, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-01-25 14:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 15,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12534076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinaryspock/pseuds/nonbinaryspock
Summary: A compilation of some Scriddler oneshots. Writing prompts, AU's, things like that.Reuploaded because of issues with the other version





	1. Sneeze

Edward clicks his tongue, depositing two Benadryl tablets and a glass of orange juice on the bedside table. “I told you to take your antihistamine.”

Jonathan groans, burrowing beneath the blankets.

“You knew the pollen count was going to be high today. And all this damn smoke isn’t doing you any good either.”

“Go ’way.” He sneezes from within his blanket cocoon. He has a positively ugly sneeze. It’s sort of endearing. Also sort of gross.

Edward rolls his eyes, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “The irony isn’t lost on me, you know. I mean, really, who ever heard of a scarecrow having hayfever?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you.” He’s so congested it’s impossible to take him seriously. “’Sides, scarecrows are made of straw not hay.”

“There’s a difference?”

“One’s stems, one’s grass,” he mumbles. He slips a hand out from beneath the blankets, reaching blindly for the Benadryl. Edward gives the tablets a nudge in his direction and he picks them up, hand disappearing under the covers once again.

He grins, bending to press a kiss against the lump where his head is. “You’re cute.”

“Fuck off.”

“If I fuck off you won’t have anyone to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You have yet to display even the slightest ability to do so.”

His hand reappears for just long enough to flip him off.


	2. Little Things

Edward sighs contentedly, stretching out on Jonathan’s bed. “I’ve missed this,” he murmurs. “Being stuck in Arkham for months at a time really does give you a newfound appreciation for the little things in life.”

“The little things?” Jonathan asks absently, collecting his discarded clothes and beginning to dress.

Edward nods. “You know, comfortable bed, clean clothes, the gentle touch of a handsome companion.” He grins, rolling over onto his stomach. “I missed you, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

He rolls his eyes, feeling more than a little annoyed. Continues in a mocking tone. “‘Thank you, Edward. I missed you too, Edward. It’s so nice to see you, Edward.’ Why thank you, Jonathan, it’s nice to see you too.”

Jonathan sighs. “It’s  _so_  nice to see you, Edward,” he repeats. “Satisfied?”

“Hardly.” He pouts. “It’s like you don’t even care that I’ve been gone for three months.”

“Has it really been three months?”

“Yes. Three months, one week, two days. But who’s counting?”

Jonathan sits down beside Edward on the bed, bending to press a kiss against his shoulder. “Feeling underappreciated, are we?” he teases, trailing his fingertips along his spine.

“A little,” he grumbles

He kisses him again, further down his back this time. “I’m glad you’re back. Is that what you want me to say?” He brings a hand to his bare hip.

“What I  _want_  is for you to mean it.”

“What makes you think that I don’t?” Another kiss, this time on the small of his back.

Edward scoffs, turning over again. “I could hardly get you to  _say_  it, how am I supposed to believe that you mean it?”

“Because you know me,” he murmurs. Runs a hand down Edward’s thigh. “I assumed the fact that I haven’t yet insisted that you leave was enough indication that I missed you.”

He frowns, avoiding Jonathan’s gaze. “But you never just  _tell_ me.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really.”

He rolls his eyes. “You can be so obtuse for someone who claims to have such a talent for observation.”

Jonathan sighs. Presses his lips to Edward’s stomach. “I missed you,” he mumbles, “and I’m glad to see you. Will you stop sulking now?”

“I’m not sulking.” He shivers slightly as Jonathan kisses his way up his torso. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For saying it.”

“You’re welcome.” He presses his lips against the base of his neck, grazing Edward’s skin with his teeth. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Mm, not yet.” He tangles his fingers in Jonathan’s hair, tilting his head back to expose more of his neck. Jonathan trails his tongue up to his jaw, eliciting a soft sigh from Edward

“I’d offer to make you something, but I don’t think I’ve gotten groceries in weeks.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“We could order something.”

Edward nods slowly, closing his eyes.

“Do you want anything in particular?”

“Surprise me.” He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Do you mind if I take a shower? It’s been ages since I’ve genuinely felt clean.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you still have the soap I like?”

“Of course.” He leans back against the pillows, watching as Edward gathers his things.

Edward pauses. “Did you really miss me?” he asks quietly.

“Yes, Edward, I really did miss you.” He rolls his eyes. “Go take a shower.”


	3. Fig. 01

It’s not always easy. He fumbles sometimes. They both do.

Jonathan never knows where to put his hands. Chest? Or hips, it might be hips today.  He’s never quite sure. He tries to remember to ask. Tries to remember to get permission before reaching, before letting his fingers press themselves into his flesh. But sometimes he slips. And he feels Edward shrink away from him, even if only for a moment. But a moment is more than long enough for the guilt to set in.

Other times, Edward begs him to wrap his hands around his throat, begs him to dig his teeth into his skin, to draw blood. He begs, and he means it. So Jonathan does it. But he doesn’t mean it. He never means to hurt him, even when he begs him to. But sometimes he slips.

And sometimes Edward’s enthusiasm becomes suffocating. He loves him so much but sometimes kissing him feels like drowning and sometimes he has to keep him at arm’s length because he doesn’t trust himself enough to hold him. Because he’s overcome by something he doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want whatever it is to contaminate Edward because he loves him. And he never means to hurt him.

But it’s not always easy.


	4. Edward

Sometimes I miss being sick. “Sick.” If you can call it that. Being sick but being healthy but feeling a little bit sick every day and I miss having something to talk about. At parties. In therapy. With boys. It’s a talking point. A personality quirk. For me, at least. It can be a quirk for me because it’s real for me but it’s not—

He understands what I mean. When I say things like that. See, that’s why I miss it, because it gives me something to… connect to people with. The right kind of people.

It’s nice enough to talk about clothes, and cocktails, and whatever fancy fucking gala is going on this week, but I miss being able to talk about the way my skin crawls when something isn’t quite right, or the way I can’t exactly tell whether I’m right to feel that way or if I’m just being irrational and he tells me that I’m just being irrational but he loves me anyway and sometimes he can be irrational too. And sometimes he feels like something awful lives just beneath his skin, and he feels like he doesn’t know how to be without it, and I miss being sick. Because now, when he tells me that he doesn’t know how to be a real person, all I can do is listen. All I can do is listen, and kiss him, and tell him to go back to sleep.

And sometimes I don’t think that’s enough for either of us.


	5. Jonathan

Wednesday, November eighth. Edward comes over. He brings takeout from his favorite restaurant. It’s the first thing I’ve eaten in days. He makes some joke about how he’s always taking care of me. And he kisses me. I like it when he does that. He’s so soft and eager and—I fix a cup of tea for him. He says I’m the only person he trusts to make tea for him. I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or just trying to flatter me. I don’t ask.

Thursday, November ninth. I slept for six hours. I can’t… really remember anything else.

Friday, November tenth. Work. A lot of work. I’ve been… distracted. It’s been piling up. I’m not really a good multitasker. I think sometimes he forgets that. He sends me a text. I think sometimes he forgets I’m not good at texting either. Against my better judgment, I open it. It’s… a picture. Oh. Maybe the work can wait.

Monday, November thirteenth. Thirteenth? I… I wake up in Edward’s bed. I don’t remember how I got there or what I… Well. I can infer. I can’t remember. He kisses me. Runs his fingers through my hair. I pull him closer against my chest, not quite ready to go home. Home.

Tuesday. I hate Tuesdays. I ask Edward to come over. Do I spend too much time with him? He brings his computer with him. We work. We work for a while and then… Ah. Well, you know.

Wednesday, November fourteenth. No. Fifteenth. My birthday is tomorrow. I can’t fall asleep.

Thursday. He tells me he loves me. I think he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this is.......................good.


	6. Cat

He isn’t quite what Edward expected. The way people talk… well, of course rumors are spurious by nature. He knows that better than anyone. Still, he had anticipated a certain amount of predictability from Jonathan. So he was especially surprised to find him crouched on the kitchen floor, absently stroking a grey striped cat at six in the morning.

“You have a cat?”

Jonathan turns sharply, causing the cat in question to shrink away from his hand. “I didn’t hear you get up,” he mumbles.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He doesn’t respond to that. He holds his hand out to the cat, coaxing it back to him. “She’s not really mine,” he says finally. “She just visits.”

“Stray?” Edward asks, sitting down beside him on the floor. The cold linoleum sends a shiver through him. He wishes he’d taken the time to put on pants.

“Probably.” He scratches behind her ears.

“Can I pet her?”

“If you like. But let her smell you first. She can be a bit skittish.” He withdraws his hand, moving aside to allow Edward to get closer.

He reaches for the cat, palm up. She tenses. Eyes him warily for a few moments before slowly dipping her head to sniff his hand. He can feel Jonathan’s eyes on him and, for a moment, he worries that this is some sort of elaborate test to see if they’re compatible or not. But that might just be his paranoia talking.

The cat nips slightly at his fingertips, pulling him out of his reverie. She presses her head into his knuckles. He relaxes. Begins to pet her.

“Didn’t take you for a cat person,” Jonathan says, gaze still fixed on him.

“It would put quite the strain on my relationship with Selina if I wasn’t.”

He laughs softly. “I suppose it would.”

“Does she have a name?” he murmurs, allowing a grin to spread across his lips as the cat purrs steadily.

“Not consistently.” He shrugs, reaching to run a finger over Edward’s exposed calf. “I called her Corn Chip for about a week before deciding that was stupid.”

“Oh, but that’s so _cute_.”

“Shut up.” His hand moves up his thigh, stopping just before the hem of his boxers.

“What about Latke?” he suggests. “Or Joan?”

Jonathan scoffs. “I’m not naming her Joan.”

“Why not? There have been tons of amazing people named Joan.”

“Like who?”

“Joan of Arc. Joan Jett. Joan… Didion.”

“I’m not naming her Joan,” he repeats, walking two of his fingers over Edward’s leg.

“Fine.” He raises an eyebrow at the gesture. Jonathan stops instantly, pulling his hand away. Edward clears his throat. “You didn’t have to stop.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t move.

“…What about Hashbrown?” he says after a few moments, trying to relieve some of the tension between them.

“Are all your name suggestions going to be some variety of fried potatoes?”

“Perhaps. French Fry was next on my list.”

He rolls his eyes. Reaches to scratch behind the cat’s ears again as Edward continues to stroke her back. “I liked Latke better.”

“Latke it is, then.” He bites his lip, casting a quick glance at Jonathan. “You’re… not what I expected.”

He looks up, raising an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”

“You know, I’m not really sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Jon and Ed are cat ppl (but Eddie also enjoys a variety of lizards and fish).


	7. Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

“You’re beautiful.”

“Good one,” Edward mumbles, barely more than a lump beneath the blankets.

“Perhaps you’d prefer handsome?”

“I’d _prefer_ if you didn’t tell me lies.”

Jonathan frowns. Flattery usually works. Edward’s phases of self loathing rarely get strong enough for him to deny a compliment. “You are _disgustingly_ beautiful,” he tries again.

“Disgustingly disgusting.”

Christ, he’s like a child. “I love you,” he murmurs, bending closer to the place where Edward’s head should be.

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

Damn it. That was his trump card. “Edward, come out from there.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Then I’m coming in.”

“No!” he squawks, gathering the blankets tightly around himself.

Jonathan pries the edges of the duvet out of his hands, creating enough of a gap to crawl under it and join Edward in his blanket bundle. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he chides.

Edward whines loudly, turning away from Jonathan. “Fuck off.”

He wraps an arm around Edward’s waist, pressing a series of kisses against the back of his neck. Edward only struggles for a moment before relaxing against his chest. He crosses his arms, but otherwise remains still.“That’s better. Would you like to tell me what’s going on?”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Shrugs loosely.

“Edward,” he murmurs, lips grazing the edge of his ear. “I just want to help.”

“I know.” He sighs heavily, turning back around. He presses his face into the curve of Jonathan’s neck. Twists his fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

“What’s going on?” he asks again, his free hand moving to stroke Edward’s hair.

“I don’t know.” He sniffles. “I just… feel so awful.”

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Just a bad day?”

“Mhm.” He sniffles again, pulling away from Jonathan enough to wipe his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I love you,” he mumbles against his skin.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it back.”

“I’m not upset.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Edward kisses the base of Jonathan’s neck, lips slightly wet from his tears. “Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course.” He traces slow circles over the small of Edward’s back with his thumb. “Beautiful, intelligent, and surprisingly athletic.”

He can feel Edward smile against him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he mumbles, kissing him again.

Jonathan scoffs. “Thanks.” He twirls a strand of hair around his middle finger. “Is there anything I can do?” he asks, voice softening slightly.

Edward shakes his head. “I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with this but y'all seem to be thirsty for that wholesome shit so here u go


	8. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context, this is pre established relationship but post first kiss(es).

When Edward arrives, he finds Jonathan sitting on the front steps of his building. He holds a lit cigarette in one hand, staring blankly down at his feet.

Edward clears his throat. “Hi.”

Jonathan looks up, seemingly startled. “What are you doing here?”

“I… came to see you.”

He drops his cigarette onto the step just below him, crushing it beneath his boot. “Why?”

“You’re going to laugh.”

“Doubtful.”

“…I bought entirely too much food,” he admits, gesturing with the overfilled plastic bag hanging at his side. “And I figured, out of the pool of people I know and am willing to spend time with, you were least likely to have already eaten and most likely to be in need of a decent meal. So I… thought I’d offer…” He trails off, painfully aware of how silly the whole thing sounds.

“What did you buy?” he asks slowly.

“Three different pasta dishes. One with meatballs, one with chicken, one with some sort of cheese sauce. And a salad.” He rummages through the bag. “There’s garlic bread in here somewhere. I got mozzarella sticks too.”

“Christ,” he mutters. “Why did you get so much?”

“Well, I couldn’t decide between the three pastas and then I wanted bread to go with the pasta, obviously, but then I saw that they had mozzarella sticks for only seven dollars, and I couldn’t decide whether I wanted the mozzarella sticks or the bread so I got both, but then I felt bad about getting both of them on top of all the pasta, so I got the salad to sort of… balance it out.” He clears his throat again. “I’ve been having issues with impulse control lately."

“Duly noted.” Jonathan stands up, wiping his hands on his pants. He heads up the stairs, motioning for Edward to follow him. He does, standing somewhat awkwardly behind Jonathan as he unlocks the front door and steps into the house.

Edward makes a beeline for the kitchen counter, setting down the bag of food. “Do you want me to get plates?”

“Sure. You know where everything is?”

“Mhm.” He opens a cupboard, removing two plates. He also selects utensils from one of the drawers.

“Do you want a drink?” Jonathan asks, reaching past him to take a glass out of the cupboard.

“Do you have wine?” He goes to move a stack of papers off the kitchen table before setting the plates down. He removes the white paperboard boxes from the bag, placing them in the center of the table.

“You know, I started buying wine for you specifically.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I got tired of you constantly asking if I have wine, even though you know damn well I don’t drink wine. So I bought some. You’re welcome.”

He smiles, sitting down at one end of the table. “Thank you.”

Jonathan says nothing. Sets a glass down in front of Edward, followed by the bottle of wine. He examines it. Not as cheap as he had expected. It almost seems like he actually tried to do something nice. He pours himself a glass.

They eat in silence for a while. Edward takes small portions from each dish, arranging them neatly on his plate. He doesn’t like to have his food touch. Jonathan opts to snag individual items out of the containers, forgoing the plate altogether.

“Edward?” Jonathan says, breaking the silence.

He looks up. “Yes?”

“Are you… doing alright?”

He shrugs, moving food around on his plate. “To be honest, I’m not really sure.”

“Okay. Let me know if you… need anything.” He stands, going into the kitchen. He takes a glass out of the dish rack, filling it with tap water.

“Jonathan?”

“Yes, Edward?” he replies, returning to the table

He stands as well, leaning uncomfortably against the back of his chair. “Do you want to… Can I kiss you?”

Jonathan pauses, lowering his eyes. He sets the glass down.

“You can say no, of course,” Edward continues, trying to breeze past the perceived rejection. “After all, I can’t force you to—I just thought, I mean last time you seemed, well, I suppose I startled you a bit, but you didn’t seem completely adverse to—but perhaps I was misreading the—”

He is cut off when Jonathan’s hands move to cup the sides of his face. He leans down, kissing him quickly. “Happy?” he murmurs.

“Well, I could always be happier,” he says, fingers coming to grip the back of Jonathan’s shirt.

He scoffs, bending to kiss Edward again. Slower than before. More… insistent. One hand moves to the back of Edward’s head, weaving itself into his hair. “I’m sorry about last time,” he mumbles against his lips.

“It’s my fault. I should’ve asked, or…” He sighs softly, letting Jonathan kiss him a third time. “…Given you some warning.”

Jonathan presses him back against the chair. “Perhaps we should finish eating,” he says, moving to kiss Edward’s neck.

He hums quietly, pulling Jonathan closer to him. “It can wait.”


	9. Stay

“I had a dream about you.”

Jonathan tugs his shirt over his head. Says nothing.

“It was nice.”

“Nice?” he says absently, buckling his belt.

“My dream. It was nice. You were… nice in it.”

“Oh.”

Edward stares up at the ceiling, fingers trailing over his bare stomach. “I think I’m in love with you.”

“No you’re not.” He runs his hand through his hair. Tries, and fails, to smooth it down.

“Just a little.”

“You always think you’re in love with me.”

“Maybe I actually am this time.” He sits up, scooting to the edge of the bed to sit beside Jonathan. Twists his fingers into his hair.

“You’re making it worse,” he protests.

He shrugs, leaning to capture Jonathan’s earlobe between his teeth. 

“Edward,” he grumbles, making no effort to avoid his advances.

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmurs, lips grazing the curve of his ear.

“No, but…” He exhales slowly as Edward’s attention shifts to his throat, nipping gently at his skin. Digs his fingers into the mattress. “I should go.”

“Don’t.”

“Ed.”

“Please?” He presses a kiss just below his jawline. “I’ll miss you if you go.”

“Then I suppose you’ll just have to miss me.” He doesn’t try to move.

“I love you.” Another kiss, further down.

“No you don’t.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He climbs into Jonathan’s lap, looping his arms around his neck.

“That’s not love.”

“How would _you_ know?”

He frowns, pulling back slightly. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I… You don’t seem like the type to… have been in love.”

“I’ve been in love,” he says defensively. “Plenty of times.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Edward kisses him, hoping to divert his attention away from the unintended insult. Trails his tongue over his lip.

Jonathan remains relatively tense, but moves his hands to Edward’s hips nonetheless. He hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear, reluctantly kissing him back.

“I’m sorry,” Edward mumbles again. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m fine. I should go.”

“Don’t go,” he says automatically. Kisses him again.

“I _really_ should go.” He tightens his grip on Edward’s hips.

“You can stay the night.” 

“I can’t.” Slides one hand up the bare skin of his back.

“Just this once?” He moves to suck gently on his neck, drawing a soft sigh from his lips.

“Edward, I can’t.”

“Do you want to?” he asks, pulling away suddenly.

Jonathan blinks, seeming vaguely confused. “What?”

“Do you want to stay?”

“I…”

“If you want to stay then you should.”

“…I know,” he says softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is mostly dialogue and i don't even like it but it was banging around in my head and i had to do something with it


	10. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daily reminder that my Edward is trans

“Let’s go.”

Jonathan looks up from his seat outside the fitting rooms, confronted by a noticeably dejected Edward. “What did you do with all the—”

“I’m not getting them.”

“You’re not getting _any_ of them?” he asks incredulously.

“No.”

Jonathan groans, bringing one hand to rub his forehead. “Edward, we’ve been here for hours, you tried on damn near fifty different things, you couldn’t find _anything_ that—”

“None of them fit right,” he mumbles. Shoves his hands into his pockets.

“What do you mean?”

“I… I tried all the smallest sizes, too. But they don’t—I mean, my shoulders are very… small. And my legs are too short. And… well, it’s everything really.” He clears his throat. “Come on, let’s just go.”

It takes a moment for Jonathan to understand. It always does. But once it clicks he feels something stir in the pit of his stomach. Some vaguely sad feeling reserved solely for Edward. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you could get them altered?” he suggests. “See a tailor or something.”

“I guess, but…”

“It’s not about that,” he says, completing the thought. “I know.”

“It’s not fair,” he says softly, gaze fixed on the floor.

“I know,” he repeats. Motions for Edward to come closer.

He does, allowing Jonathan to take his hand. “I just wish I wasn’t so… I don’t know,” he says. “ _Regular_ men don’t have to go to tailors all the time,” he continues bitterly.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he says, pressing his lips to one of Edward’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset. I just… want you to be kinder to yourself.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

“I know.” He kisses the tip of his thumb.

“Can we go home?” he asks, voice dangerously close to breaking. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He nods. Stands. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the transmasc struggle is going to the store and being too big to fit in the boy's clothes but too small to fit in the men's clothes


	11. Mac N Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jonathan has a sister

“I can’t believe she’s letting you babysit.”

“A lapse in judgment, to be sure.”

Edward shakes his head, stirring the pot of macaroni. “I mean, really. What does it say about her as a parent that she’s willing to leave her daughter with a known criminal?”

Jonathan shrugs in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “It could be worse. At least she’s sober and relatively present in her own child’s life.”

“I’m sensing a hint of bitterness.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says evenly.

“Is the food ready yet?” Mary calls from the living room, eyes still glued to the computer screen.

“When it’s ready, you’ll know,” Jonathan replies.

“I’m hungry.”

“Fascinating.”

She breaks away from the screen long enough to stick her tongue out at him. “You’re a bad brother.”

“Half brother,” he corrects automatically. Takes a bowl out of one of the cabinets. “I’m your _half_ brother.”

“Mom just calls you my brother.”

“Do you believe everything your mother tells you?” he snaps.

“She’s just a kid,” Edward reminds him gently.

“I know,” he grumbles. “Sorry.”

“I’m not a _kid_.”

“Of course you are,” Edward says. “You’re eleven.”

“Exactly. I’m a preteen,” she declares proudly.

He scoffs, preparing to drain the pot. “That’s just a fancy way of saying you’re a kid.” He pours the boiling water down the sink until only the pasta is left.

She scowls. “Why is _he_ here anyway?” she asks, turning to Jonathan.

“He lives here,” he says simply.

“Why?”

“He helps pay rent and I enjoy his company.”

Edward smiles slightly, opening the provided packet of orange cheese powder. It looks terrifyingly unnatural and neither Jonathan nor Edward would ever conceive of consuming such a thing, but Mary had practically demanded it. He dumps the powder into the macaroni. Adds milk. Stirs.

“People don’t live with their friends, though.”

“Some people do. And besides, we’re not just—it’s different.”

“Different how?”

“We…” He glances at Edward, searching for the right phrasing. The nature of their relationship is somehow so vague and yet so specific that it is nearly impossible to explain in a way that is both accurate and appropriately noncommittal. “What would you say we are?” he asks.

“Oh, I don’t know. Business partners that are engaged in an illicit affair? Two people with irreparable trust issues doing their best to maintain a quasi-healthy relationship?” He grins up at Jonathan, spooning some of the macaroni into the bowl he had provided. “Whatever it is, we’re certainly not boyfriends.”

“No, certainly not.”

“What are you talking about?” Mary whines, closing the laptop.

“Nothing,” Jonathan says. “Food’s ready.”

She slides off the couch, coming to sit at the kitchen table. “So? Why does he live with you?” she asks again, shoving a spoonful of macaroni into her mouth.

“Well. We’re sort of… dating,” he finishes lamely. “I guess.”

“What do you mean sort of?” she asks.

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older. Finish your food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh. y'know


	12. Click

Jonathan sighs, his brow furrowing slightly as he skims through his notes. He had to have made a mistake _somewhere._ He bites down on the inside of his cheek, tapping the desk impatiently. There has to be a reason the formula isn’t working. He adjusts his glasses. Damn. He can barely read his own handwriting. Is that a seven or a nine?

_Click._

He looks up, head swiveling to find the source of the noise. He notices a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and turns to see Edward shoving something into the drawer of his worktable.

“Edward.”

“Yes?” he asks innocently, folding his hands neatly in his lap.

“Did you just… take a picture of me?”

He raises a single perfectly shaped eyebrow. “What makes you think that?”

“I heard something.”

“Care to be more specific?”

“Something that sounded like a camera.”

Edward shrugs, turning back to his own work. Blueprints for some new death trap, most likely.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _Edward_.”

“Well, so what if I did?” He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s just a picture.”

“Delete it.”

“Why?”

“I want you to delete it.”

“…I can’t delete it,” he mumbles sheepishly.

“I’m not in the mood for games, Edward,” he says through gritted teeth.

“It’s not a game! It’s… Here, let me show you.” He opens the drawer, retrieving the item he had hastily shoved inside. “Harley got it for me,” he says, holding the Polaroid camera out to Jonathan for inspection. “I actually really like it, it takes absolutely beautiful pictures and, you know, the vintage aesthetic is really en vogue these days.”

Jonathan scoots his chair towards Edward, taking the camera into his hands, along with a developed photo. He has to admit, Edward does have a decent eye for photography. But of course he does, he’s good at everything. It’s not the worst picture of himself he’s ever seen, but candid photos are inherently bad. That’s just a fact. He frowns.

Edward moves to the edge of his seat in an attempt to get a god look at the photo. “Did it come out nice? I haven’t had a chance to look yet.”

He ignores the question. “Why did you take a picture of me?”

“I thought you looked… striking.”

“Striking?”

“Perhaps that’s not the right word.” He taps his lips with his index finger. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just… Sometimes I look at you and I just realize how beautiful you are.” He clears his throat quietly. “It’s startling, really, I mean, I thought _I_ was supposed to be the pretty one in this relationship.”

“You think I’m… pretty.”

“I know most men don’t like to be called pretty, but I think it’s appropriate. Besides, pretty is such a nice word. Much nicer than handsome in my opinion. But, of course, masculinity is so fragile that—”

“You took a picture of me because… you thought I looked pretty.”

Edward clicks his tongue, turning back to his worktable. “You sound like a malfunctioning robot,” he says, using a ruler to draw a perfectly straight line. “And I believe the word I used originally was beautiful.”

Jonathan says nothing. He sets the camera on his desk, staring intently down at the photo. He doesn’t understand how Edward could possibly… see that. As far as he can tell, he just looks entirely average. He supposes beauty is in the eye of the beholder but… Well. He’s just being realistic.

“It’s not your face, per se,” Edward continues, attention still fixed on the blueprints. “Don’t get me wrong, I _do_ like your face, but it’s more like… Well, I don’t know.” He draws another line. “It’s ineffable, really. There’s just something about you that I’m… drawn to. I suppose.”

“I see.”

He pauses, not looking up. “I would be willing to dispose of the photo,” he says softly. “If you really dislike it.”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“But you don’t like it?”

“I don’t think there’s anything… special about it. About me in it.”

“Mm. Let me see?” he says. Without turning, he reaches for the picture with one arm.

Jonathan hands it to him. “I didn’t know you even liked photography.”

“I’m rather neutral about it, to be honest. It’s fun sometimes, but I don’t really take it seriously.” He inspects the picture, smiling slightly. “I think it looks quite nice. This lighting is really working for you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Will you let me keep it?”

“I can’t tell you what to do.”

“You absolutely can, and I would probably do it.”

He shrugs noncommittally. “You can keep it, I don’t care.”

“Thank you.” He admires the photo for a few more moments. “You’re aware that I love you, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And that I find you irresistibly beautiful?”

He feels his cheeks warm slightly. He adjusts his glasses. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

He grins over his shoulder. “Me? Never.”

They’re silent for a few moments. Edward appears to go back to work, while Jonathan stares blankly down at his notes. “Do you actually… mean it?” he asks after a while.

“Mean what?”

“What you said.”

“You have to learn to specify, my dear.”

“Do you actually think I’m beautiful?” he asks carefully.

“Of course.”

“And this isn’t a… trick?”

“Why on earth would it be a trick?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you not trust me?” he asks, feigning shock.

“I trust you as much as I can bring myself to trust anyone.”

“Then bring yourself to trust me when I say that you’re beautiful. Because you are, in your own weird way.” He tucks the picture back into the drawer, beginning to organize his blueprints into folders. “I am starving,” he announces, rolling his chair away from the desk. “I’m going to take a lunch break. Do you want me to make you something?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “Got to finish this.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” He stands, going over to Jonathan. Bends to press a kiss against his temple. “Don’t work too hard.”

“Mhm.” He leans back in his chair. Flips through his notebook. Sighs. He can’t focus. He’s too preoccupied with… He just doesn’t _see_ it. And he doesn’t understand how Edward can. Of course, he rarely understands anything Edward does or says in regards to him.

Perhaps it’s for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of my writing is the same i'm the goddamn patrick modiano of gay fanfiction.
> 
> also Edward has a swivel chair bc of course he does.


	13. Speculation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young adult au anyone????

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I've ever mentioned this on here, but I do a bit of playwriting for school! I really wanted to write this little scene but it wasn't working very well as a story so I decided to try it as a script! If y'all are into this I might do more in the future, but if you're not then I'll stick to my usual format. Feedback is appreciated!

_[The Iceberg Lounge._ Harley  _and_ Edward  _share a table._ Harley _is sipping a drink with a straw._ Edward  _holds a mostly empty wine glass. Both are focused on_ Jonathan _, who is sitting at the bar by himself-- the bar can be located on or offstage.]_

Harley: He's straight.

Edward: I'm not so sure.

Harley: No, he’s definitely straight. Look at his shoes.

Edward: Harley, you can’t tell someone’s sexuality just based on their shoes

Harley: Just because _you_ can’t doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

Edward:  _(Pause)_ I don’t think he’s straight. I’m getting a distinct gay energy from him.

Harley: Oh, so _my_ shoe theory is stupid, but _you_ can sense ‘gay energy’?  _(Pause)_ I’m getting aggro straight guy energy.

Edward: Oh, come on.

Harley: I'm serious! I mean, he's drinking whiskey for crying out loud.

Edward: He can’t be aggro, he’s wearing _glasses._

Harley: So glasses are gay now?

Edward: Glasses indicate sensitivity and intellect, something the typical aggro straight man lacks. 

Harley: Glasses only indicate that you can’t see properly. 

Edward:  _(Pause)_ Well, what about his outfit?

Harley: What _about_ it?

Edward: Sweater over a button up? Definitely gay.

Harley: Or he’s an accountant.

Edward: Accountants can be gay too.

Harley: Accountants can be literally any sexuality. Including straight.

Edward: What about bisexual?

Harley: Sure, accountants can be bisexual.

Edward: No, I mean the guy.

Harley: Oh. _(She considers it. Shakes her head)_ No way.

Edward: Come on.

Harley: He's bicurious at best. 

Edward: That's ridiculous. 

Harley: Says you.

Edward: I know a queer man when I see one and _that_ guy is about as straight as my nose before I got it fixed. 

Harley: You had a nose job?

Edward: Not the point. 

Harley: Okay, I'm gonna put that on the back burner for now, but you  _need_ to show me pictures of your old nose after this.

Edward: I'm not going to do that.  _(Long pause. He_ _finishes his drink, standing up)_ I'm going to go talk to him.

Harley: What?

Edward: I'm going to go over there and ask if he's gay. And then if he is... you owe me thirty dollars. I will accept a check or PayPal deposit if you don't have cash. 

Harley: Fine. Deal.

 _[_ Edward _approaches the bar, claiming the seat next to_ Jonathan _. They have an inaudible conversation as_ Harley _looks on. After a while,_ Edward _gets up and returns to the table.]_

Edward: So he's definitely not straight.

Harley: Damn it!  _(She takes out her phone and opens PayPal)_

Edward: He also definitely saw us staring at him and he did not appreciate that. 

Harley: Oh. Whoops. 

Edward: But I got his number. So... I think I'm basically a pickup artist.

Harley: I'll give you thirty extra dollars if you promise not to call yourself that ever again.

Edward: You know I can't guarantee that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't decide whether i like this or not also im def procrastinating on finishing my uc application 
> 
> also side note if u want me to write smth in particular hit me up with a prompt and i'll do my best! it'll probably help with writer's block lol.


	14. Sameach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting into the holiday spirit

“You awake?”

Jonathan groans softly, turning to press his face into the curve of Edward’s neck. “Are any of us really ‘awake’?” he grumbles, nestling against his chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He lifts his head enough to press a kiss against the edge of Edward’s jaw. “Happy Hanukkah.”

He smiles, pleasantly surprised that he even remembered. “Thank you.”

“How do you say it?”

“ _Chag sameach_. Happy holiday.”

“ _Chag sameach_ ,” he repeats to himself.

“Very good.” He trails his fingers up Jonathan’s arm, pausing when he reaches his shoulder. “Special day for you too.”

“Me?”

“Mhm. One month clean.”

He pulls back, squinting slightly at Edward’s face in the faint morning light. “Is it actually?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“I’m proud of you,” he says, leaning to kiss the tip of Jonathan’s nose.

“It’s just a month,” he mumbles. “And it’s less impressive when you’ve quit before.”

“Still. I’m glad you’ve made it this far.” He laces his fingers into Jonathan’s hair. Kisses him. “Love you.”

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Kisses him back. Slides his hands up the back of Edward’s shirt, pressing his fingertips against his skin. He catches Edward’s lower lip between his teeth, drawing a soft sigh from his partner.

Edward is the one to break away. “I’ve got to shower,” he says, ruffling Jonathan’s hair slightly.

“Stay a few more minutes.”

“I’d love to, but Harley’s coming over and if I want to have the food done by the time she gets here, I have to shower now and start prep in ten—” He finds himself interrupted as Jonathan kisses him again, pulling him closer against his chest. “—minutes,” he finishes, pulling away again. “Jonathan.”

“I know. Sorry.” He presses a final kiss to his forehead before rolling onto his back, allowing Edward to get out of bed. “Is it just Harley and Pamela coming?”

“Oswald’s coming too. And Selina might, but she says Bruce is doing his own Hanukkah thing with his family so she might just hang around there for the evening.” He goes to the dresser, sifting through one of the drawers designated for his clothes. He retrieves a pair of black pants, then opens one of Jonathan’s drawers. “Can I borrow this?” he asks, holding up a dark blue sweater.

“Sure.”

“Thank you.”

“Mm. Want breakfast?”

“Yes please.”

“Coffee?”

“Tea.”

“Alright.” Jonathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, getting up as well. “No milk, moderate sugar?”

He nods. “Thanks dear.”

“Don’t mention it.”


	15. Hospital

Edward groans, rolling over onto his side. He blinks slowly, squinting slightly against the harsh light. He looks around, eyes straining. White walls, blue curtains, faint beeping. Hospital room? It’s too nice to be the Arkham infirmary. Too clean. Why is he in a real hospital?

“So. I’m your emergency contact.”

He turns his head, wincing as he does. Jonathan sits in a cheap metal chair much too small for his lanky frame. He’s not looking at Edward. “Could’ve sworn I told you that months ago,” he mumbles, shifting back onto his side.

“You didn’t. And you know that.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Few hours.”

“ _Hours?_ ” he asks, finally turning to face Jonathan.

“I was… concerned.”

He grins weakly. “Concerned? About little ol’ me?”

“Edward,” he murmurs, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. “I’ve been up all night, please don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts, his tone softening. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He’s quiet for a few moments. He bites the inside of his cheek. “What happened?” he asks finally. “They told me you had a head trauma and a pipe lodged in your abdomen when they found you.”

“I… went to a meeting. Negotiation. Thing.” He waves his hand limply. “Things went wrong very quickly. I don’t really remember much of it. Which is surprisingly refreshing compared to my usual tendency to remember things in excruciating detail.”

“Who were you meeting with?”

“Why? So you can hunt them down and kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Sexy.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Just tell me who it was.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Edward.”

“Jonathan,” he responds, matching his tone. “Please. I just woke up. I feel like shit. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

He sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Fine. I will allow you twenty-four hours to rest and then you have to tell me who stabbed you with a pipe.”

“Thirty-six.”

“Thirty. Final offer.”

“Okay.” He smiles slightly, reaching toward Jonathan with one arm. “Come over here and kiss me, please.”

Jonathan stands with a quiet groan, taking Edward’s hand into his own. He bends to kiss him, balancing precariously on the edge of the hospital bed. “You know I care about you more than anything,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

“I was… I was really worried about you.”

“I know,” he repeats, tugging gently on Jonathan’s collar. “Kiss me again.”

He does. Allows Edward to wrap his arms loosely around his neck. “Please try not to get stabbed for another month or so.”

“I make no promises.”


	16. Untitled

Edward exhales a shaky breath, dragging his fingers clumsily through his hair. He brings his knees to his chest. Ducks his head beneath the blankets. Tries to keep from crying.

It’s just a fight, he reminds himself. People fight. _Couples_ fight. It’s normal. It’s just one fight.

One of many?

No. They’re not going to be one of those couples that are always screaming at each other. Not like _some_ people they know. He digs his nails into the back of his neck.

What if Jonathan doesn’t come back? He’s never just… left like that. He doesn’t even know where he went. How long he’ll be gone. What if he doesn’t come back?

But, of course, he has to come back eventually. He left all his things here. At the very least, he has to come back to… pack. But Edward doesn’t want to think about that.

He grits his teeth. Pulls the blankets tighter around himself. He feels tears sting the backs of his eyes, and he wills them not to fall. It’s just a fight, it’s just a fight, people fight, normal people fight, n—

He hears the soft creak of the floorboards in the next room. He tenses. Waits.

After a few moments, the bedroom door swings open slowly. He can’t hear Jonathan moving through the room. For all he knows he might still be in the doorway. But then he feels his weight sink into the mattress as he claims his side of the bed, working his way beneath the blankets with minimal movement.

Edward remains still. Says nothing. Makes no effort to acknowledge his presence.

Jonathan doesn’t speak either. He lies rigidly beside Edward, his breathing uneven. Finally, he lifts his hand. Rests the back of his palm against Edward’s lower back.

Edward feels a sob well in his throat and his hand instinctively moves to cover his mouth. He’s not going to cry. He’s _determined_ not to cry.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Jonathan murmurs. His voice is unsteady. Barely more than a whisper.

He wants to say something—anything—in response, but he can’t manage to conjure any sort of meaningful sound. Instead, he turns toward Jonathan, pressing his face against his chest. Jonathan’s arms move to circle around him. Edward can feel his fingers trembling as they twist into his hair and it feels so _good_ to be touched that he can’t help but allow the tears to stream down his cheeks as he gasps for air.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles into Edward’s hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He grasps at the back of his shirt, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He claws at the fabric, desperately trying to anchor himself.

Jonathan tightens his grip on Edward, gently massaging his scalp. “I don’t think I know how to do this right.”

“I don’t care,” he says, finally finding his voice. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going to leave,” he says softly. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to leave you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dislike this


	17. Aftercare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite sure what age I imagine them being here so. Do with that what you will.

Edward sighs contentedly, reaching for his phone on the bedside table. He absently runs his fingers through Jonathan’s hair with his free hand. “That was fun,” he murmurs, clearing a few notifications before returning the phone to its previous location.

Jonathan presses a kiss against his inner thigh, wordlessly humming his agreement.

“You’re… surprisingly good at that.”

“Why is it so surprising?” he asks, nipping gently at his skin.

“I don’t know. I suppose… I guess I’m used to cis men being more squeamish about it. I think the idea of all the bits and pieces and the… _taste_ sort of intimidates them.”

“I love the way you taste,” he says softly, bringing his lips to the curve of his hip.

“If I didn’t know you any better, I would suspect that was an attempt at being romantic,” he teases, trailing his fingers down the nape of Jonathan’s neck.

“Then it’s a good thing you know me better.” He pushes himself up into a seated position, trying to smooth his hair down to a semi-presentable state.

“Can I ask you something?”

“If you must.”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He pauses, lowering his hand from his head. “What am I currently?” he asks carefully.

He waves his hand nonchalantly. “Semi-regular sexual partner who also knows how to talk me down during panic attacks.”

“Oh. And how is that different from being your… boyfriend?”

“Well, if you were my boyfriend we’d probably go on dates. You know. Like regular people do.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I’d get to show you off to my friends,” he continues, rolling onto his side. “And… we wouldn’t see other people.”

“Have you been seeing other people?”

“Not really. Not for a while.”

“But you _were_ at one point?” he presses.

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“No. I’m just curious.”

He takes Jonathan’s hand into his own, walking his index and middle finger across his palm. “If it’s any consolation, I chose you over anyone that I was allegedly seeing.”

“Is it because none of them would give you head?”

“Oh, shut up,” he mutters, his ears burning.

He grins, bringing Edward’s hand to his lips and kissing the base of his palm. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“You’re terrible,” he grumbles.

“I know.” He presses his lips to his wrist.

“Simply awful.”

“Mhm.”

“Do you want to get dinner tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels out of character to me but also idk how to make it in character so eh. im not good at ideas you guys


	18. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loosely inspired by Ache by FKA Twigs

Edward drags his fingers down the concrete of the cell wall. Presses his ear up against its rough surface. He can’t hear anything. He never can, but he always tries anyway. He sighs, turning so his back is up against the wall. He waits.

A slip of paper slides into the cell, having been pushed through the small crack between the wall and the floor. He snatches it eagerly. Searches through the mess of scrawled messages to find the new addition. There. In tiny, barely legible handwriting slightly less faded than the rest.

_Do you have group @ 2?_

He frowns. _One_ , he writes back, folding the paper up and sliding it back through the crack. Waits.

The paper reappears.

_I need to see you._

Edward tries to suppress his delight at being wanted, let alone needed by someone. He scribbles his reply with a shaking hand. _Rec room after group?_ Passes the note back to the other cell.

He runs his fingers through his hair, forcing his heartbeat to slow. He feels impossibly juvenile, getting excited about the prospect of seeing a boy he likes. Well. Perhaps that’s an oversimplification. Still. He feels like a teenager in a trite romantic comedy.

He glances down. The paper must have gotten passed back at some point while he was thinking.

_Laundry room after group. C block._

He raises an eyebrow. _Why?_ Returns it.

It takes longer than usual for the note to be delivered this time. But, as always, it winds up on the floor beside him in due time.

_I want to kiss you. Is that stupid?_

He beams, his heart rate picking up again. He searches for a patch of blank space to write his reply. Bites the inside of his lip. _It’s not. I’m very kissable._

As he waits for the reply, he traces the edge of the crack with his finger. Trails it along the jagged edge down to the flat surface of the floor. Tries to fit his little finger into the base of it, where the opening is widest. He can’t get it very far in without risking getting stuck.

He feels a jolt run through him as the pad of Jonathan’s finger lightly grazes the tip of his own. They’re barely able to reach each other, but even the slightest amount of contact after days of _nothing_ sends shivers down Edward’s spine.

But it only lasts for a moment before Jonathan’s touch is replaced by the edge of the paper being pressed against his finger. He withdraws his hand, allowing Jonathan to slip the note into his cell. He hasn’t written anything new, but has circled a previous message and added a question mark.

_Laundry room after group?_

He never was one to mince words. Edward scrawls a small _Yes_ in the margin of the paper, drawing an arrow towards it. He adds a heart as an afterthought, hastily passing it back to Jonathan.

He brings his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on top of his knees. Smiles to himself. It’s nice to have something to look forward to.


	19. Xmas

Edward groans, having been rudely awakened by the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside table. He reaches for it in the dark, squinting at the harsh light of the screen. Jonathan. He frowns. Jonathan hates phone calls. It could be important. He bites the inside of his cheek, answering the call. “Are you okay?” he murmurs.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Edward rolls onto his back. “It’s fine. What’s up?”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Jonathan asks.

“Nothing. I’ll probably get takeout. Maybe binge some stupid Netflix show.” He reaches over to turn on the lamp. “Why?”

“I… I don’t know. Just curious.”

“Do you have plans?”

“If trying not to kill myself constitutes ‘plans,’ then yes.”

He sits up, rubbing the sleep from  his eyes with the heel of his palm. “If you kill yourself, can I have the jacket that makes you look like a gay farmer?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“I’m being intentionally vague so I can take my pick.”

Jonathan laughs quietly. “If I kill myself you can have any and all of my jackets.”

“Perfect. Don’t kill yourself.”

“I make no promises.”

“Hey,” Edward says softly, shifting the phone to his other ear. “Do you want to come over tomorrow?” He toys with the edge of the blanket. “I know Christmas is hard for you, but… I don’t know. It might be nice to… be with someone.”

A few moments of silence pass. “I don’t want to impose,” he says finally.

“I’m literally not doing anything.”

“I know, but—”

“It’ll be low-key. I’m not busy, you can avoid all the holiday bullshit, and you’ll have someone to… take your mind off things,” he says carefully.

“Take my mind off things,” he repeats. “Meaning?”

“We can talk about _that_ when you get here,” he teases.

He scoffs. “You’re being a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? I haven’t even agreed to come over yet.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to?”

“I’m not saying anything of the sort.”

“Then come over,” he coaxes. “I want to see you.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.”

He can hear a faint rustling from Jonathan’s end. Perhaps he’s getting up? “When do you want me to be there?”

“Whenever you like.”

“Could I come in an hour or so?”

“Sure.” He bites the tip of his thumb, smiling slightly. “Maybe later I’ll wear that thing you like.”

“Which thing?”

“The black thing.”

“The black— _oh_.”

He grins. “See you in an hour?”

“Uh huh.”

“Great. Bye.”

“Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh i really don't like this chapter and i only proofread half of it (bonus points if u can guess which half) but like idk christmas is rough for me
> 
> Merry christmas tho if u celebrate. I'll try and write something better later.


	20. 10 AM, Gare Du Nord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because love has your face  
> And body.  
> Your hands are tender, and your mouth is sweet  
> And God has made no other eyes like yours.  
> Tell me you love me.

Jonathan buries his face in the curve of Edward’s neck. Wraps his arms around him. Presses kisses against his skin as his fingers grasp at the back of his shirt.

Edward sighs softly, his hands moving to wind their way into his hair. “Are you okay?” he murmurs, breath hitching in his throat as Jonathan’s lips find his pulse.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Maybe not. Should I stop?”

“I don’t want you to stop.” He trails his fingers down Jonathan’s spine, their legs tangling beneath the blankets. “Is this helping?”

“I think so. It’s distracting me. Which is good.” He pulls Edward tighter against his chest, kissing a line up to his jaw. “And you’re… You’re good for me, I think.”

He wants to respond, but Jonathan kisses him insistently, preventing him from speaking before he even has time to formulate the thought. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat as Jonathan captures his lower lip between his teeth, his hands sliding up the back of his shirt.

Edward’s arms move to loop around his neck. “I love you,” he murmurs, slightly out of breath. “So much.”

“Do you mean it?” Jonathan asks tentatively, his voice low.

“Of course. You should know that by now.”

“I know. I know you love me. But…” He trails off, pulling away from Edward. “You’re so beautiful. And I can’t help but worry that this is some sort of elaborate trick.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It sounds really paranoid and stupid when I say it out loud.” He exhales a shaky breath. “It doesn’t seem possible that someone like you would ever—Fuck, I don’t know. I’m not… I don’t think I’m okay.”

“I know,” Edward says softly. “But you don’t have to be. It’s just us. And I love you even if you’re not okay.”

Jonathan presses a kiss to Edward’s forehead, nestling his face in his hair. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the little poem in the summary is from a craigslist missed connections ad lol. real talk craigslist can be good for writing prompts


	21. [Insert Bird Pun Here]

“What’s taking you so long?” Edward calls from the living room. “We have to go.”

“I can’t find my glasses,” Jonathan replies, rummaging around in his desk drawers.

“Well, where was the last place you had them?”

“If I knew that then I would be able to find them.”

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “I _told_ you to just get contacts.”

“I hate contacts.”

“Can you just go without them? We’re going to be late.”

Jonathan pokes his head out of the bedroom. “It would go faster if you helped me look,” he says pointedly.

“Fine,” he says rolling his eyes. He scans the living room, not really bothering to look past his immediate field of vision.

“That’s not helpful,” he mutters, going into the kitchen. He opens all the cupboards, moving plates and cups aside in search of the elusive glasses.

“Found them!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he grumbles. How does he _do_ that? “Where?”

“They’re on the windowsill.”

“They’re on the—why?”

“I don’t know, I’m not the one who lost them. Now hurry up and let’s _go_!”

Jonathan stares at the windowsill for a few moments, vaguely confused about why his glasses might be there. He brushes the thought away, attributing it to his terrible memory. He retrieves his glasses. “Okay. Ready to go.”

___

“Is this yours?”

Jonathan looks up, glancing at the ring being presented to him. “Edward, if this is some long winded joke that ends in you proposing to me, just quit while you’re ahead.”

“If I was going to propose to you it would be much more elaborate and complicated and it would most likely involve copious amounts of rose petals.”

“I prefer orchids.”

“Orchids are _not_ romantic.” He waves his hand dismissively. “But that’s not what this is about. Is this your ring or not?”

“Of course it’s not. I don’t wear rings.” He takes the ring out of Edward’s hand, inspecting it. It’s a simple gold band. Seems high quality. “Where did you find it?”

“It was outside the window.”

“Maybe it belongs to one of the neighbors?”

“Probably, but what’s it doing outside the window?”

Jonathan shrugs, passing it back to Edward. “Do you think we should give it back?”

“If no one comes looking for it by the end of this sentence I’m selling it.”

“Fair enough.”

___

Edward taps his fingers lightly against Jonathan’s cheeks. “Are you awake?” he whispers.

“Debatable.” He groans softly, burying his face in Edward’s neck. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven.” He trails his finger over the curve of Jonathan’s ear. Presses a kiss to his temple.

“Mm. What do you have to do today?”

“Laundry, wash my hair, finish going over the prints Oswald sent me. I might go to the store later, if you need me to get—What the hell?”

“What?” he mumbles against his skin, not looking up.

“There’s… a bunch of birds outside.”

“Birds?” He pulls away, rubbing his eyes. “What kind of birds?”

“Crows I think.” He pokes Jonathan in the shoulder. “Some scarecrow you are, you can’t even keep them off your own property.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, reaching for his glasses and turning to face the window. He peers outside, frowning.

Two crows are perched on the windowsill, with three more sitting below them on the ground. One of the two outside the window deposits something small and shiny on the sill before returning to the ground, allowing another to take its place. The birds take turns flying up to the window until each of them has left a trinket on the sill. Jonathan can make out an earring, a few scraps of metal, a pen, and a pair of glasses.

“This is… bizarre,” Edward remarks.

“Are they giving me gifts?”

“It would seem so.” He gets out of bed, moving closer to the window. “It seems they’re trying to give you things they think you’d like. Or need.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, crows are smart. If they’ve seen that you wear glasses and then they find a pair of glasses, they might think that you would want them. Same with the pen. It’s like targeted ads.” He taps the glass a little. “I bet they’re the ones who left the ring. And your glasses, remember?”

“But why do they want to give me things?”

“I guess they like you. Do you feed them?”

“No.”

“Hm.” He taps his lips with his index finger. “What about the cat?”

“The cat?”

“Yeah, the cat that comes around sometimes. You put food out for her, right?”

“I guess.”

“Maybe they think it’s for them.”

“Great. So I’ve been accidentally feeding the neighborhood crows and now they think we’re friends. Wonderful.” He gets up, going over to the window and opening it. The crows hop back slightly, startled by the sudden movement. He collects the various items, dropping them on the bedside table and closing the window.

“You’re like a knockoff Disney princess,” Edward says, grinning. “With all the woodland creatures at your beck and call.”

Jonathan glares at him. “I’m going to go make coffee and forget you ever said that.”

“If you say so… Crow White.”

“I’m breaking up with you.”


	22. PDA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This came from a prompt over on my tumblr about pda (if you want to leave me a prompt over there i'm still accepting them)

“I’m going to gouge my own eyes out,” Edward announces, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “I hate rich people, and this is dreadfully boring.”

“You’re the one who insisted we come here,” Jonathan reminds him. “I still think we should’ve stayed at Oswald’s party.”

“I know, but I promised Selina I would stop by before midnight.” He takes a sip of the drink. “Little did I know she would be off pick-pocketing her boyfriend’s guests and would be too busy to hang out with me.”

“We can’t prove that she’s pick-pocketing them.”

“And we can’t prove that she isn’t.” He frowns at the glass, passing it to Jonathan. “This is terrible, taste it.”

“Why would I taste it if it’s terrible?”

“Because now you’re curious about what it tastes like.”

He stares blankly at the glass for a few moments before taking a tentative sip. He wrinkles his nose. “Oh, that’s… gross.”

“Right?”

“Why did I let you talk me into tasting it?” he mutters, depositing the glass on a nearby windowsill. “You would think that someone so rich could manage to get a decent champagne.”

“Rich people have notoriously terrible taste.” Edward scans the room, his gaze landing on the large television mounted on the wall. A group of people are clustered around it watching the ball drop. He clicks his tongue disapprovingly. How trite. “Straight people don’t know how to throw a New Year’s party.”

“I’m sure there are some other gay people here.”

“Then why is this party so boring?”

“Fair point.”

“Are you coming over later?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Later as in after this?”

“Yes.”

He shrugs. “Sure. If you want me to.”

“I do.” He glances back to the TV. Forty-five seconds. He drums his fingers against his thigh, doing his best to appear casual.  “Um. So. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

“I’m aware.”

“And midnight is in thirty seconds.”

“Okay. So we’re leaving in thirty seconds?”

“Well sure, if you want, but I was actually wondering—” Twenty seconds. “—I mean, I know you don’t care for PDA, and of course I want to respect that—” Fifteen. “But, I mean, since it’s New Year’s, and it’s sort of tradition, I thought we could—”

“Edward, if you want to kiss me, you can just ask.”

Ten. His cheeks flush. “Oh.” He clears his throat. “You don’t care if people see?”

“I have no problem being… seen with you.”

Five. “So, I can kiss you?” he asks quietly.

“Yes, Edward, you can kiss me,” he says, his tone softening. “Of course you can kiss me.”

Edward can’t help but smile as he loops his arms around Jonathan’s neck, the other man’s hands moving to his waist. He pushes himself onto his toes as Jonathan bends down, closing the distance between them.

One.

He kisses him as a group of drunken socialites ring in the New Year. It’s horribly cliché, but that doesn’t keep him from enjoying it nonetheless. In that moment, everything is exactly as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think the ending kind of peters out but idk i sort of like this


	23. Compensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was from a prompt abt the first time Jonathan and Edward worked together (also loosely inspired by peaky blinders bc i'm trash and i like that show)

“They’re late,” Edward grumbles, checking his watch. “Seven minutes.”

“Be patient,” Jonathan says. “We’ll get what we came for in time.”

“We were supposed to get it seven minutes ago.”

“You know, I wouldn’t have brought you along if I knew you were going to be so irritable.”

“Oh, don’t act like you’ve so generously granted me the _privilege_ of tagging along with you,” he snaps, jabbing Jonathan in the shoulder. “This is my business as much as yours.”

“I wouldn’t classify petty revenge as ‘business,’” he mutters under his breath.

“There is nothing petty about it. They _shot_ one of my girls!”

“It was collateral. You’ll be compensated.”

“That’s not good enough. She’s more than just an employee.” He crosses his arms, trying not to look too much like a petulant child. “I know _you_ wouldn’t understand,” he continues. “After all, you’re nothing but an antisocial, unfeeling dickh—”

“Shh,” he hisses, waving his hand in Edward’s direction. “That’s the car. They’re here.” He casts a glance at Edward. “Try to be professional, please.”

“I am never working with you _ever_ again.”

“That’s perfectly fine with me.” He looks toward the entrance of the warehouse, adjusting his glasses slightly. Waits.

Sure enough, their guests arrive in a few moments. Four men. The one in front carries a slim briefcase. The others appear to be unarmed—they aren’t, but they appear to be. They come to a halt a few feet away from Edward and Jonathan.

“You’re late,” Jonathan says, breaking the silence.

“Traffic. You know how it is,” the first man says. He clears his throat, assuming a more formal tone. “Mr. Falcone sends his regards, and his sincerest apologies for any damage caused to your assets.”

“Mm.” He gestures toward them, indicating the briefcase. “May I?”

He nods, taking a few steps towards them. He opens the briefcase and allows them to survey the stacks of bills arranged neatly within.

Jonathan glances at Edward, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”

“It’s all there.”

“Good.” He accepts the case, snapping it closed. “Satisfied?”

“You said I would be compensated,” he says, his voice low.

“We got the money.”

“I don’t care about the money. I want _compensation_. For Echo.”

“Ah.” He sighs. “You realize we’ll be burning a very valuable bridge.”

“I’m aware.”

“Very well,” he says, beginning to walk towards the entrance. “I’ll be in the car.” He nods slightly as he passes the gangsters. “Gentlemen,” he murmurs, continuing on toward the door. For all of the frustration caused by Edward’s antics, he can respect his sense of commitment. Perhaps he’s not so terrible to work with after all.

He’s barely taken one step outside when he hears the gunshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not totally happy about this but other ppl seemed to like it so i'm posting it


	24. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another one from a prompt about the first time one of them realized they love the other

“What time did you get here?” Edward mumbles from the bedroom doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s dressed in a pair of purple pajama pants with green frogs on them and a black tee shirt.

“A couple hours ago. I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.” Jonathan pours himself a cup of coffee. Holds the pot up for Edward to see. “Do you want some?”

“I’m good.” He takes a seat at the kitchen table, resting his head on his forearm. “Why didn’t you come to bed?”

“It was early. I didn’t want to wake you.” He stirs in some sugar, taking a sip. It could stand to be sweeter, but he wants to try to be a normal person who doesn’t put twenty spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee. He sets the mug on the table, sitting down across from Edward. “How’d you sleep?”

“Alright. Did you sleep at all?”

“A bit.” He takes another sip from the mug. “I like this outfit,” he says, gesturing vaguely towards Edward.

“Thanks. It’s my new fashion line. Sleep chic.” He lifts his head a little, propping it up with his hand. “You look nice today.”

“Thanks. I call it sleep deprivation chic.”

“That’s not very original,” he remarks.

“Originality is dead.”

“Okay, edgelord. You should put that on a tee shirt and sell it to Hot Topic.”

“I don’t know what those words mean.”

“Well, just know it was really hilarious. Quality banter.”

“Noted.”

Edward reaches for him with his free hand, tapping the table to get his attention. “Hold my hand.”

He does, lacing their fingers together and stroking the back of his hand with his thumb. “Do you want breakfast? I can make you something.”

“Not right now. Let’s just… sit for a little while.” He glances up at Jonathan. “Is that okay?”

He nods, continuing to brush his thumb over Edward’s skin. He likes moments like this. Likes being able to just… be near Edward. Without having to figure out what to say or what to do. He’s never really been good at that. Not in the way Edward is. But, of course, Edward is good at everything.

“You’re so beautiful,” Edward says softly, giving Jonathan’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Only to you,” he murmurs, taking a drink of his coffee.

“I’m the only person that needs to think you’re beautiful.”

“I guess that’s true.” He raises Edward’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of his palm. “I think you’re beautiful too.”

“Thank you.”

He kisses his hand again before lowering it to the table. He loves moments like this. It’s so simple and comfortable and it’s unlike anything Jonathan has ever had before. He’s never been able to just exist in the same space as another person without pressure or judgment. Never had someone genuinely enjoy his presence. It’s completely new to him. And he loves it.

Is that what being in love is?


	25. Coming Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt from tumblr that I forgot to post!

“I, um… I had a really nice time,” Jonathan says tentatively, turning toward Edward in the car’s passenger seat.

“Yeah, me too,” Edward agrees, folding his hands in his lap. “Maybe we could do this again sometime,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that’d be… I’d like that.” He clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Sorry, I’m not very good at this.”

“It’s fine, I’m a bit rusty too.” He unbuckles his seatbelt but makes no move to leave the car. He swallows nervously, his mouth suddenly very dry. He shifts in his seat, staring down at his hands. “I have something to tell you,” he blurts. His heart pounds in his throat. He can feel his fingers start to tremble.

“Okay,” Jonathan says cautiously.

“It’s not really a big deal,” he continues, his words running together, “but I—I like you and I respect you, of course, and I really do want to see you again, so I think you should know that I’m—am I talking too fast? I feel like I’m talking very fast. Fuck, I’m nervous. I talk fast when I get nervous.”

“Are you stalling?”

“I’m stalling. I’m definitely stalling.” He inhales a shaky breath. “Sorry. I’m… I think you should know that I am… trans. Transgender. That’s what I wanted to tell you.” He clasps his hands together, digging his fingernails into the back of his palm. “You would think after so many years of coming out to people I wouldn’t be so anxious about it,” he says with a nervous laugh. “Um. Please say something.”

“…I already knew that.”

“You— _what?_ ”

“Sorry,” he says awkwardly.

“Who told you?” he asks, his ears burning.

“Nobody told me. I read your file.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “In Arkham. It had some… outdated information in it.”

“Oh,” he says quietly. “I see.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—It was an invasion of privacy. I shouldn’t have read it. I was just… curious about you.”

“No, it’s—I’m not mad.” He runs his fingers through his hair, taking a couple deep breaths to calm himself. “I’m not mad,” he repeats. “I… I read yours too.”

“Oh.”

“So. We’re even.”

“So it seems.”

They sit in silence for a few moments. Edward clasps and unclasps his hands, massaging away the indentations his nails had left. Jonathan remains very still, staring absently out the window.

Finally, Edward decides to speak. “So… that doesn’t change anything?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t have gone on a date with you if it did.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I know that was stressful for you.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Honestly, this is one of my better coming out experiences.” He smiles slightly, nudging Jonathan’s shoulder. “I’m genuinely not upset. I was just really nervous and I guess I… freaked out a bit. Even though there was nothing to freak out about.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” He offers a small smile in return. “I’m glad you told me. I think it’s better to hear it from you than from a piece of paper, you know?”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a question: if i got a ko-fi account or something would anyone actually care? i'm tryna save up for college supplies n stuff. idk. it's an idea. lemme know what you think


	26. Boy Got it Bad

“So. I’m the only one you’ve told?”

“Who else would I tell?” Jonathan mumbles, fumbling to light a cigarette.

“Harley. Jervis. Victor. Your friends.” Edward reaches out to steady his hand. Brushes his thumb over the back of his palm. “You were gone for months. They deserve an explanation.”

He clicks his tongue derisively, pulling his hand away from Edward’s. Brings the flame to the edge of the cigarette. “If they ask I’ll tell them.”

“They can’t ask if they don’t know you’re back.”

“They’ll know when I want them to know.”

“But you wanted me to know.”

“Yes.” He takes a drag on the cigarette. Blows smoke out the window. “You’re not mad at me for leaving?”

“I was.” He sighs, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. “I wish you had told me where you were going. And I wish you had let me help.” He laces his fingers together in his lap. “Are you clean now?” he asks softly.

He nods. Taps a bit of ash onto the bedside table. Edward makes a mental note to clean it up later. “Only two weeks.”

“Two weeks is better than nothing.”

“I suppose.” He inhales slowly. Exhales a mouthful of smoke. “It’s so fucking hard,” he murmurs. “Day to day.” He groans softly, rubbing his eyes. “I mean, how do regular people live without doing copious amounts of drugs all the time?”

“Regular people do other kinds of terrible shit to themselves,” Edward says. “They drink. Smoke. Hit their kids, cheat on their partners. Watch bad Netflix movies about eating disorders.” He shrugs. “Everyone has their own unhealthy coping mechanism.”

“Perhaps I’ll have to start cheating on you as a way to manage my trauma.”

“Perhaps. I’ve been cheating on you for _ages_ , and it seems to be working for me,” he jokes.

Jonathan laughs quietly. “Not sure I could even find someone to cheat on you with.”

“You probably couldn’t. And for that I am grateful.” Edward moves to the edge of the bed, resting his cheek on Jonathan’s shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Oh?”

“Terribly,” he murmurs. “I thought I was going to die, I missed you so much.”

He rolls his eyes, leaning over to flick the cigarette butt out the window. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“I’m being serious.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he admits. “But I did miss you a lot.”

“Mm.”

“Did you miss me?” he presses.

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it again with addict jon  
> also i have a ko-fi now (ko-fi.com/nbspock) so if u want to help me pay for college textbooks/other college stuff maybe check that out and if you want i'll write you a little drabble or something as a thank you


	27. Lover's Quarrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are from a prompt someone sent me over on my tumblr!

“This is your fault.”

“ _My_ fault? How could you _possibly_ think that—”

“You and your goddamn riddles—”

“I _have_ to do the riddles, I’m the Riddler! If I don’t do the riddles then I’m just some weirdo in an expensive custom suit.”

“That’s what you are anyway,” Jonathan mutters under his breath.

“If I weren’t handcuffed I would strangle you,” Edward says through gritted teeth.

“I’d like to see you try.” He glares out the window of the Batmobile. Clenches his jaw.

“Do you think I _enjoy_ this?” Edward hisses. “Do you think I _want_ to get arrested by some vigilante in a glorified Halloween costume and have to drive around the _SAME GODDAMN BLOCK_ until we stop fighting because it scares the Arkham guards?” he snaps, the end of the sentence directed more toward Batman than Jonathan. “Do you think this is _fun_ for me?”

“You want to hear what I think?”

“Please, enlighten me Jonathan. I’m _dying_ to hear your input.”

“I think you’re a brat,” he says, turning to face the seat in front of him. “I think you’re just an immature brat that wants to prove his intelligence so he doesn’t have face the fact that he’s an impulsive idiot who sacrifices common sense in favor of a stupid gimmick. And I think you already know that.” His voice is dangerously low. Cold.

Edward tenses slightly. Jonathan is… unpredictable when they fight. “Don’t call me an idiot,” he says slowly.

“Don’t act like one.”

“I’m not an—”

“You’re a selfish, obsessive idiot, who—”

“Jonathan, I swear to God, do _not_ —”

“You never fucking _think!_ ” Jonathan snaps, turning abruptly toward Edward. “You never think about anyone but yourself and you drag other people into your fucking mess—for what? _Attention?_ ”

Edward flinches. Presses himself close against the car door, trying to make himself as small as possible. He wishes he could just snap his fingers and make everything stop. He just wants everything to stop.

Jonathan notices. He always notices. Even when he’s angry. He recedes to his own corner of the Batmobile, his breathing unsteady. “I’m sorry,” he says stiffly.

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Do not talk to me,” he repeats. He can feel his fingers shaking.

Jonathan sits rigidly on his side of the car. Says nothing. He returns to staring out the window.

Edward watches him, his whole body beginning to tremble. He wants to scream. Or cry. He can’t really tell. They make another trip around the block.

“Edward.”

He grits his teeth. Stays silent.

“I’m sorry.”

He lowers his eyes.

“I took it too far. I shouldn’t have called you… I shouldn’t have said any of those things.” Jonathan sighs, leaning his head against the window. “I’m sorry. You know I would never—”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he says quietly, his gaze still trained on his feet.

“I know.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. I just said that to be cruel.” He glances in Edward’s direction. “You know how much I care about you,” he says softly. “Don’t you?”

“I do.” He slides into the middle seat. Leans against Jonathan’s arm. “But you can be such a dick sometimes.”

“I know.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“Makes sense.”

Edward looks out the window. Smiles slightly. They’ve finally turned onto a different street.

____

“How did you sleep?”

Edward shrugs, pushing an unidentifiable beige substance around on his plate. He wrinkles his nose. Arkham meals are notoriously terrible, but this can’t possibly be safe to consume. “About as well as you would expect.”

“Any nightmares?”

“A few.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Jonathan asks, lowering his voice.

“A little.”

“Do you want me to go sit somewhere else?”

“No. I’ll be more mad at you if you do that.” He pokes absently at his ‘food’. “What do you think this is?” he asks, indicating the plate.

Jonathan adjusts his glasses, inspecting the substance. “A pile of skin harvested from a very unhealthy person.”

“Perhaps this is what they do with the inmates that don’t behave.”

“If that were true, they would’ve served you for breakfast years ago.”

Edward breaks a small piece off with his fork, lifting it to his nose. The smell is… questionable. He extends the fork to Jonathan. “I dare you to eat it.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Are you scared?” he teases, waving the fork in his face. “Scared of a little inmate skin?”

“Knock it off,” he says, leaning out of Edward’s reach.

“If you eat it I won’t be mad at you anymore.”

“I would rather have you be mad at me for the rest of my life.”

“Wimp.” Edward drops his fork back onto the plate. “I bet Harley would eat it.”

“I once saw Harley eat a deep fried paper towel for a dollar. I _guarantee_ you she would eat it.”

Edward laughs. Pushes the plate away. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You are?”

He nods. “Even though you can be surprisingly mean sometimes, it’s… It’s nice to have you here. With me.”

“I see.”

“And… I guess I’m not mad at you anymore.” He taps the cafeteria table with his index finger. “But if you ever call me an idiot again I will cut your ears off.”

“Duly noted.”


	28. Toxin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another request from tumblr about Jon accidentally gassing himself

“Are you coming to bed?”

“Later,” Jonathan mutters, sticking a label crookedly on one of the gas canisters in his lab. “Busy.”

“Don’t work too hard,” Edward says, closing the door as he leaves.

Jonathan can hear his footsteps receding down the hall. He puts a label on the second canister. Sighs. He’s got a splitting headache. Had it all day. He should just go to bed.

“Got to finish this,” he reminds himself. He takes a small, black notebook out of his desk drawer—a gift from Victor. He makes a note. _Two functional samples_ , he scribbles. _Ready to test. Third is unstable. Low potency._

The edges of his vision begin to blur. He takes his glasses off. Rubs his eyes. He looks back down at his notes. Finds himself unable to actually read them. Christ, he must be exhausted. He should just go to—

“Jonathan.”

His blood runs cold. He recognizes that voice. But that can’t be possible, she’s—

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Slowly, Jonathan lifts his eyes from the notebook. He tenses. Even as an adult, the mere sight of her is enough to terrify him. “Grandmother,” he says quietly. He keeps his voice steady. Keeps his fingers from trembling.

She looks exactly like he remembers. Tall—almost superhumanly tall. Deathly pale. And gaunt. For a moment, he’s struck by how much she… looks like him.

She moves suddenly, and he instinctively takes two steps back. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows this isn’t real—logically it can’t be—but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to stay as far away from her as possible. It has to be the toxin. It _has_ to be. But he was so careful not to ingest—

“You’ll rot for what you did to me,” she hisses. A drop of blood runs down her forehead. Makes its way down her nose. “There’s a spot reserved in Hell for people like you.” Her voice warps. The drop gradually grows into a steady flow, a thick red streak staining her skin. Pieces of her flesh begin to shrivel and separate from the bones beneath.

Jonathan presses his back up against the wall, sliding down to the floor. Tries to keep his breathing even. _Not real not real not real not real n—_

“Look at what you did to me,” she commands.

He keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. Remains still.

She’s in front of him in an instant—he didn’t even see her move. One of her long, thin hands moves to grasp his chin in a vice-like grip. “Look,” she snarls, tilting his head so he’s forced to meet her gaze.  Her nails dig into his cheek. He half expects them to draw blood.

“Please,” he whispers. “Don’t—”

The lab door swings open and Jonathan scrambles into a corner with a strangled yelp. He squeezes his eyes shut. He can hear someone speaking faintly, as if from far away. Something pinches his forearm and, seconds later, a rigid object is being pressed over his face.

“Jonathan? Look at me.”

“No,” he mumbles. His own voice sounds muffled.

“It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s Edward.” He feels a soft hand smooth his hair away from his forehead. “Look at me.”

Jonathan takes a shaky breath. Opens his eyes. “Eddie,” he rasps.

Edward exhales quietly, seemingly relieved. He’s wearing a gas mask and pajamas—what time is it? “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s just me.”

“I—I thought I was—I tried to be careful.”

“Shh,” he murmurs. “There was a leak. One of the canisters wasn’t secured properly.”

Jonathan raises a hand to his face. Presses his fingers against the gas mask secured over his own features. “How did you know I was—”

“I know everything,” Edward says softly. “Can you stand?”

Jonathan nods, slowly managing to get to his feet. His legs feel weak.

“We need to get you out of this lab,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around Jonathan’s waist to steady him. “Come on.”

They make their way into the hall, Edward shutting the door behind them. Jonathan practically collapses onto the floor as soon as they’re out, his heart pounding in his throat. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “If you hadn’t been here…”

“But I am here. So you don’t need to worry about that right now.” He takes the gas mask off, pressing a kiss to Jonathan’s forehead. Jonathan buries his face in Edward’s chest, his shoulders beginning to shake. Edward trails his fingertips up his spine. The nape of his neck. Kisses his temple. “I’m here,” he says again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personally i'm not a fan of this but idk i'm not good at writing like...... stuff happening. i'm more of a dialogue person


	29. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt

The first thing Jonathan becomes aware of is the noise. Beeping and whirring and voices. It’s giving him a headache. He hates waking up with a headache. He hates waking up in hospitals with a headache even more.

“Jonathan? Are you awake?”

He turns his head slightly, searching for the source of the voice. He winces. His whole body hurts.

A face comes into view, slightly blurry at first but recognizable nonetheless. “Hi Ed,” he mumbles.

“Hey,” Edward says softly. He’s holding a brown paper bag and a cup of coffee. He sets both down somewhere out of Jonathan’s immediate field of vision. “How’re you holding up?”

“Bad. In pain.” He groans, shifting into a position that is only slightly more comfortable. “I need morphine.”

Edward reaches over to check the IV drip attached to Jonathan’s forearm. “They’ve already got you on fifteen milligrams.”

“I need at least thirty.”

“Jonathan—”

“Built up a tolerance. I can hardly feel it if it’s under twenty-five,” he says. “Please?”

He sighs. “I’ll bring it up to twenty.”

“Edward—”

“I’ll bring it up to twenty and then… I’ll tell the nurse to let you have Ketamine, okay?”

“…Fine.”

Edward adjusts the drip. Sits down in the chair beside the hospital bed. “Next time you’re bleeding internally, I’d appreciate it if you could avoid vomiting on my doorstep,” he says, taking a cardboard container of French fries out of the bag. “It really is a pain to clean up.”

“Sorry.”

“And I’m sure it goes without saying that I was worried about you,” he continues.

“You were… worried about me?”

“Of course. I worry about everything.” He eats a few of the fries, setting the container on the edge of the bed.

“Oh.”

“You know, it’s a shame you’re stuck in here for a while longer,” Edward says. “I was looking forward to seeing you on Thursday.”

“Oh?”

He nods absently, taking another fry. “I had everything planned out so nicely,” he murmurs. “Dinner first—I know exactly what I was going to order—and then you were going to offer to drive me home. I was going to accept, obviously, and then I was going to invite you in.”

“Mm.”

“And then I was going to… I was planning to kiss you.” He clears his throat, folding his hands in his laps. “And then I didn’t plan anything after that, but I did work out the three most likely scenarios.”

“What were they?” Jonathan asks. Stares up at the ceiling. There’s a small crack in the plaster.

“Well, there was the possibility that you would be horrified or embarrassed or something of that nature and simply storm out into the night.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “The version of you in my imagination has a flare for the dramatics.”

“I see.”

“Then there was the possibility that we would have some lengthy and vaguely uncomfortable discussion about the nature of our relationship. One of the more boring options, I must say. And the third was that I would seduce you and you would sleep with me—or at least stay over, I would’ve settled for that.” He waves his hand dismissively. “But you’re in the hospital and we’re not going out on Thursday, so none of those things are going to happen and I have to reevaluate my plans.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Jonathan says, rolling his eyes.

“Quite.”

He keeps his gaze fixed on the crack in the ceiling. “You could just… kiss me now. If you want.”

“Do you want me to?” Edward asks softly.

“It might be nice,” he says, glancing at Edward. “I sort of deserve it, don’t you think?” he jokes, making a poor attempt to cut the tension between them. “I think after suffering a blunt force trauma and internal bleeding I deserve _at least_ a kiss.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Edward warns. He gets up from his seat, leaning over Jonathan. He braces one arm beside Jonathan’s shoulder. Bends to press a soft kiss to his lips. “There,” he murmurs. “Now what?”

“Perhaps we should have a lengthy and vaguely uncomfortable discussion about the nature of our relationship?” Jonathan suggests, grinning weakly up at Edward.

“If you weren’t injured right now, I would smack you.”


	30. Scars

Edward tugs his shirt over his head, discarding it on the bedroom floor. He lets Jonathan press kisses against the hollows of his throat. Lets his hands roam over his skin. His back. Edward sighs softly, lacing his fingers in Jonathan’s hair.

His touch settles on a thick scar running between Edward’s shoulders. He traces it lightly. Detaches his mouth from Edward’s neck, bringing his lips to his ear. “May I see?” he murmurs, breath warm against Edward’s cheek.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he teases, twirling a lock of hair around his index finger.

Jonathan pulls away slightly. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.”

Edward shrugs, lying back against the pillows. “You don’t have to show me, if you really don’t want to. Though, I would like to see at some point.”

“And you will. At some point.”

“But not now?” he murmurs, looking up at the ceiling.

“No. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He glances up at Jonathan. “I’ll let you look at mine anyway.”

Jonathan scans Edward’s torso, gaze landing briefly on the most prominent scars there. “Good surgical work,” he murmurs.

“I only settle for the best,” he says, grinning. “Should I turn over or would you like to admire my chest a little while longer?”

It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Edward swears he sees Jonathan blush. “You can turn,” he says sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Does wonders for my self esteem, really.” Edward rolls over onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms. “I’ve never known someone to take such an interest in my scars,” he says quietly. “Any of them.”

“It’s more interesting when you have a frame of reference to… compare, I suppose.” Jonathan runs his fingers over a long, thin scar curving up from the back of his hip. “What’s it from?” he asks, tapping it lightly.

“Hit with a belt.” He lets his eyes drift shut, his lips parting slightly. It feels _so_ nice to be touched. Gently. Innocently. It really is a beautiful act of intimacy.

“And this?” He indicates the scar between his shoulders.

“One of Batman’s gadgets. Batarang or something equally ridiculous.”

“He’s got good aim.”

“Yes, unfortunately he does.”

Jonathan smoothes his palm over the small of his back, grazing a small cluster of scars. “Lovely,” he mumbles. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the nape of Edward’s neck.

“Hm?”

“You’re lovely.”

“Mm. Thank you.”

“Every bit of you is so…” He trails off. Kisses his shoulder. “Why would anyone ever want to hurt you?” he murmurs, his lips brushing Edward’s skin.

“I wish I knew.”


	31. Scarebeast

“Can this thing go any faster?” Edward asks, keeping his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. “They’re gaining on us.”

“I’m driving as fast as I can,” Jonathan grumbles, making a sharp turn down an alley.

“You should’ve stolen a sports car.”

“Oh, yeah, let me just take my pick from the hundreds of sports cars parked on the street in the Narrows. That’s _such_ a good idea.” He veers to the side to pass the car in front of them, tires scraping against the curb.

“Careful!”

“Do you want me to go fast or do you want me to be careful?” he snaps, making another turn.

“What I want is to _survive_ this experience.”

“Survival’s overrated.” He grits his teeth, weaving through traffic as best as he can. He speeds through a red light. Glances in the rearview mirror. Shit. The other car is following close behind, keeping up with them despite Jonathan’s erratic driving. He has to come up with something. A plan. A destination. How can they outrun these people? What should he—

“Look out!” Edward screeches from the passenger seat.

Jonathan refocuses, swerving just in time to avoid barreling into a pedestrian. Before he can regain control of the car, it skids wildly, slamming into a lamppost. Jonathan smacks his head against the steering wheel, seatbelt digging painfully into his torso. His vision goes black.

He regains consciousness a few moments later only to see Edward being dragged from the smoking car kicking and screaming. He struggles to free himself from his seat, flinging the car door open and stumbling out into the street. He has to get to Edward, has to help him, has to—

He doubles over, clutching at the sides of his head. White hot pain spreads throughout his body. He can’t even manage to breathe. It feels as if every muscle, every _cell_ in his body is being ripped apart.

And then he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.

He doesn’t feel like himself. Doesn’t feel human. Doesn’t feel.

The sound of Edward’s screeching pulls him back to the present. He straightens up, impossibly tall, and searches for the source of the sound. He sees Edward being pulled into the other car. Sees him sink his teeth into the arm of one of his assailants. He seems to have taken a page out of Selina’s book. Now, if only Edward could just get himself further away from the car.

One of the gangsters is the first to notice Jonathan. He stares, wide eyed and slack jawed up at him. His comrades take notice as well, turning to face the… creature. In his shock, one of the men loosens his grip on Edward’s shoulder.  Edward wrenches himself free from his captors, bolting down the block and out of eyesight. _Good boy_ , Jonathan thinks, his own voice faint in his head. _Smart_.

He captures two of the men in his clawed grasp, flinging them with ease into the side of a building. The third man tries to scurry into an alley to escape. That simply won’t do. He reaches down, vaguely aware of how bizarre his arm looks, picking the man up by the head with his forefinger and thumb. He squeezes the man’s skull effortlessly until he hears a satisfying crack. He drops him to the ground, the job complete. Now to find Edward.

Edward, as per usual, makes it very easy to be found. He comes darting out of an office building—he must have slipped inside to take refuge from their attackers—running rather clumsily down the street towards Jonathan. He doesn’t seem at all put off by Jonathan’s current state. Jonathan thinks that’s sort of… nice.

The next thing he knows, Jonathan is laying in the back of the getaway car. His head rests comfortably in Edward’s lap, and he feels gentle fingers working their way through his hair.

Jonathan groans softly, a dull ache settling throughout his body. “Where are we?” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut.

“We’re parked on the bridge to Bludhaven,” Edward murmurs. “Thought it best to lay low for at least a few hours.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“So,” he begins, smoothing Jonathan’s hair away from his face. “You’re the ‘mysterious creature’ all those crackpot cryptid hunters are going on about.”

“The very same.”

“I should’ve known. Who else but you would transform into a fearsome, superhuman monster that plagues the outskirts of Gotham?” He smiles slightly, bending to press a kiss to Jonathan’s forehead. “Say what you will about me, but you can’t deny you have a flare for the dramatics as well, my dear.”

“Oh, hush.”

“Perhaps I’ll have to hop onto Twitter and post my conspiracy theories about the identity of this infamous beastie,” he teases.

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Next time, I won’t save you.”


End file.
